


The Fire and the Flood

by seapotato



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (but ambiguous timeline), Balinor temporarily, Bickering, Case Fic, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic Reveal, Mild brief angst, Prompt writing, Season/Series 05, Weird flirting, brief non-graphic injury/blood, dragon boy side character, mild brief thighs, sexy dreams, spooky dreams, textured soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24242320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seapotato/pseuds/seapotato
Summary: Merlin lost track of the number of dreams he'd moved through. He remembered some of what happened, before. He remembered a boy in the market, a few years older than him.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 82





	The Fire and the Flood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rinja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinja/gifts).



> I had so much fun writing this, for the prompt "peasant, gold, jealous". If you've read An Ox on the Tongue, you know I like my sweetness with a bit of dark weirdness. It's been a while since I've had the chance to really bask in that. (it was supposed to be a 5+1 and turned into a...9+1)

1.

A snail circumscribed the rim of a goblet. The goblet was rough hewn and modest. It would be a peasant's goblet if Merlin didn't know it already: the holy grail. The edge of the snail's gray flesh waved gently as it went around and around. The hand holding the stem of the goblet was Arthur's. Merlin watched his hand, watched the snail, and knew this was a dream. Arthur was seated at the round table and Merlin's body was nowhere. Gold light filtered through the stained glass windows. Geometric patterns in reds, blues, greens, and purples danced over the table. Everything was quiet. Arthur was unmoving but the snail kept tracing its path. It was a strange dream, but not unpleasant. He thought that if he were older, he would understand it. Something about time, maybe. Circular and still. What was he supposed to do again? Why did he come here? He had to tell Arthur about it, about—

2.

They were in Arthur's chambers and Merlin's body was now present. He found himself lighting candle after candle after candle. There was already a fire roaring in the hearth. Arthur sat, motionless again, staring into it with a hunting dog at his feet. The dog is long and lean and Merlin can see its sides go concave, convex, concave, as it breathes.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, trying to unstick him, “Arthur, you've got to—” The window was closed until it was not and a gust of wind blew out every candle and the fire in the hearth. Merlin fumbled in the dark, trying to find the candles, to light them again, quickly, before another wind came rushing through. The dog's eyes glinted in the dark, reflected some invisible moon outside. Arthur had sunk too deeply in the shadows. The shape of him was erased, immersed.

3.

Merlin lost track of the number of dreams he'd moved through. He remembered some of what happened, before. He remembered a boy in the market, a few years older than him.

He was a jeweler whose eyes flashed gold when he pressed a thin circle of silver into Merlin's hands and said, “I see you here every week. I see Gaius the physician shop the markets with you as you patiently help him through the crowds. I see Lady Guinevere walk with you arm in arm as she laughs brightly. I see the knight Gwaine dance around you as he slips sweets into your pockets. I see you hide amongst them and I see you smile at them and I see their love for you. I have nothing to ask of you. Wear this, or don't. I only wish for one of us, one of our kind, to remain. To be safe. To be loved.”

Merlin had stared, wide-eyed, part of him panicked and ready to run, the other drawn in to the warmth of the boy's hand, the coolness of the silver as the barest wisp of its magic ran over his palm. He saw that the boy wasn't a boy at all. His eyes had flashed gold but his pupils—and he was so pale—his voice had been—he hadn't actually been speaking to Merlin in any language of the kingdom, for the language that wanted to bubble out of Merlin's throat in response was that of—

“Aithusa?” he whispered, confused but suddenly shot through with a dizzying hope.

It could not be her but it looked so much like her. The boy smiled and closed his hands around Merlin's, the silver bracelet enveloped by them both. “No,” he said, “much older. There is one more thing, Emrys, a warning that I—”

“What are you doing? Get away from him at once!” Arthur was there, suddenly, his blade drawn and pointed at the boy.

None of them moved except for Arthur who took a half-step forward, his eyes blazing. “Let go of him. I will not repeat myself. Merlin, move away, step behind me.”

“Arthur, no, he—”

The boy ignored Arthur and gripped Merlin's hand tighter. The bracelet nearly cut into his palm.

He looked at Merlin desperately, and said “Focus, I need you to focus.”

“Now!”

“Arthur! Don't!”

And then the boy yanked hard on Merlin's hand, tugged him to lean over the stall, and kissed him. Though, it was hardly a kiss. It was their lips pressed together, the boy's moving slightly as he sounded out indecipherable words against Merlin's mouth that echoed as a painfully loud voice in his head. It was the language of the dragons and Merlin felt the connection in every bone. The words made an image that seared into his mind before everything went silent, the connection severed as quickly as muting a bell. Arthur's hands had yanked him back and he was dizzy, disoriented, felt utterly bereft at the loss. He was doubled over, he realized tears were burning in his eyes, he saw the cut on the boy's arm and the black, shimmering dragon's blood leaking out. He saw Arthur's face twisted with too many emotions as he readied a strike to the heart. He saw the boy draw a single rune with his own blood on his cheek, heard him shout a word, and then he was gone in a plume of ash and ember.

Merlin fainted.

4.

When he first woke it was a false waking, as it was into a dream. The first dream of many. He was in the forest by the cave where he met his father. He walked quickly and sure enough, there at the mouth of the cave was Balinor. He was crouched by a weak campfire with a blade and a small piece of wood in his hands. He was carving and humming. It was dusk.

“What did he say to you? After? That no man was worth your tears,” Balinor glanced up at him but it was a little off center, a little over Merlin's shoulders, like he was not actually seeing him but he knew Merlin was there.

Merlin said nothing. He could smell the damp earth and the campfire smoke. He could hear the leaves rustling. It all felt very real.

“Your king is right, and he is wrong. Your love, and your grief, is for you to give to whom you wish. It is as wide as a valley and as necessary as sunlight. You work every day to be worthy of him and of yourself. You see him do the same. Ah, my son. You are precious not because you are Emrys. That is why you are vital. How can any be worthy of you? But they all are, aren't they, because you have let it be so. You are precious because you are Merlin.”

Balinor finished carving. He placed it on a rock next to him, stood, gave Merlin a brilliant smile that landed, again, just off center, an approximation. “This will guide you out, but you must solve it first.”

Balinor walked into the cave, disappearing quickly into the dark. _Wait,_ Merlin wanted to say, _father, wait_ just to have it said once more to him, aloud, _father._ He knew it wouldn't matter.

The carved figure was a complicated knot, reminiscent of a druid design, but different. It was—imbalanced. The longer Merlin stared at it the more he saw that it was wrong. There were sections of it that fed under and over, never reappearing to wrap around again. If he were to try to re-create it, he knew there would be too many strands for the number of loops. The knot appeared a little different every time he looked at it as a whole. He tucked it into his pocket. A bird sang high and sharp and he was gone.

5.

There were many dreams after that. In each he had the silver bracelet around his wrist and the carved knot in his pocket. Mundane ones of him doing chores. Dreams of his mother. The snail on the goblet. The candles that wouldn't stay lit. He passed through them without knowing how: he wasn't sure if he was the one controlling it, or if an outside force pushed him from one to another. There were dreams where Arthur was frozen, unmoving. There were dreams where Arthur carefully untied his neckerchief and pressed a reverent kiss to his collarbone. There were dreams of blood and water. There were dreams of him smoothing his hands over Arthur's bare shoulders, his fingers tingling with magic. There were dreams of a garden in the winter. There were dreams of Arthur biting gently at his thigh, his back arching as Arthur laughed warmly against him, his whole body alight. There were dreams of hunts and feasts, of famine and destruction. There were dreams of his bones turned to vines and his skin to stone, his whole self an overgrown fortress. There were dreams he got lost in and dreams that were only a snatch of color and sound. He sifted through them all, searching.

6.

He was startled awake, into another dream, by Arthur slapping the table next to his head.

“Merlin, wake up!” Merlin sighed and rolled his head on the table. He had a crick in his neck.

“Believe me, I would if I could.”

“Get up! We're wasting time!”

“What?” Merlin lifted his head and stared blearily at Arthur. There was something different about him. He looked more real, somehow, and Merlin realized he felt more real, too. His own presence had up until now felt like his dream-self. He was aware it wasn't real but it wasn't as if he was his true waking self wandering through a dreamscape. Everything was always blurrier, simplified. Actions and events followed loose dream logic including Merlin's own behavior. He felt truly awake this time.

“Arthur, am I awake?”

Arthur frowned at him and Merlin saw that Arthur wasn't angry. He was disappointed.

“Of course you're not, and neither am I. I try to tell you this every time but it always goes sideways. Never mind. Go do whatever it is you have to in this dream.” Arthur made to leave but Merlin scrambled to stand and grabbed his arm.

“Arthur, wait! It's me! How did you get here? How long have I been asleep?”

Arthur turned back to face him, and looked down at Merlin's hand gripping his arm, at the silver bracelet. “You weren't wearing it in any of the other dreams,” he said, and quickly looked back up at Merlin. “It's truly you?” he asked, quietly, the barest edge of hope laced through.

“Yes—yes!”

Arthur's shoulders sagged with relief and Merlin reluctantly let him go. “It's been nearly a week. Gaius says there's nothing wrong with you, nothing he can figure out. Do you have any idea why you're like this?”

Merlin took a breath and pulled the carved knot out from his pocket and handed it to Arthur.

“I need to find this,” Merlin said, “and fix it.”

“Ah, your father,” said Arthur. Merlin stared at him. Arthur glanced up, handed back the knot, and gave Merlin a rueful smile. “I had a dream with him.”

“What did you talk about?” His heart was pounding. He might throw up. Could he run away in this dream?

“The weather. He said it's always dusk where he is, but he doesn't mind it because it never gets too warm.”

“Arthur,” Merlin whined, put a little at ease by Arthur teasing him but still feeling horribly anxious. If Arthur knew Balinor was his father, he must know everything else.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “We talked about you, you idiot. What else? Balinor the dragon lord, his son the last dragon lord, and also the most powerful mage alive.” Arthur raised an eyebrow, looked Merlin up and down. “Doubtful, but I didn't push him on it. Look, it's obvious why you never told me about your,” he waves a hand, indicting, apparently, all of Merlin, “you know. If I'd known, I'd have to do something about it. So thank you. For not making me.”

This all sounded far too good to be true. “Really? You're taking this awfully well,” Merlin said skeptically.

Arthur sighed. “Yes, really. I'm pretty sure I've only been asleep for a day but the way time moves here is...I've seen many things, since then. I've had opportunities to adjust. I'm still going to yell at you when we're out of this, though.”

Merlin figured that was fair. “Wait, how did you even get here?”

Arthur gave him a withering look. “The _dragon_ named _Kilgarrah_ that you never mentioned you were friends with.”

“Ah.”

7.

They discovered that while they were separate, they had been moving through their own dreams. Now that they were together, the dreams were shared and they had some level of control. There were no more dreams of drowning endlessly in a lake. No more dreams of the crystal cave and its overwhelming futures. No more dreams of cold nights spent with Arthur wrapped around him, sword calloused fingers tripping along his spine. No more dreams of lazy summer afternoons with Merlin blowing cool air against where he had licked Arthur's stomach just below his navel.

The dreams they shared weren't really even dreams anymore. Arthur was the one who noticed the shift, that it had become closer to searching through memories than invented things. Merlin figured out quickly after that they were inside of his head, not Arthur's.

8.

“Look, wherever this thing is, what if you don't remember it?”

“It's got to be here somewhere. That's what the dragon in the market said.”

They were in Ealdor, in a grove of trees behind one of the small swathes of farmland.

“Oh, the dragon in the market. The one who got you stuck here to begin with.”

Merlin was walking in front of Arthur, which was fortunate because then he couldn't see Merlin smile at Arthur's tone.

“He was only trying to help. I'm not sure what'll happen if I don't fix it, but it can't be good.”

He heard Arthur kick a fallen branch out of the way. “Right, and him assaulting you like that was helping.”

Merlin glanced back, frowning. “He didn't assault me, he gave me a bracelet warded against dark magic and he warned me of something bad.”

“Warned you? Is that what it's called when—you're impossible.”

Merlin was abruptly done with this argument. They'd had it a hundred times already and he was sick of it. He could usually get a bit of teasing in, but Arthur sounded sullen and angry and it wasn't fun anymore. He stopped walking, spun around to face Arthur and jabbed a finger at his chest.

“First of all, if you hadn't jumped in to defend my honor or whatever rubbish you were thinking, he wouldn't have had to project _directly into my mind—_ which, by the way, was incredibly painful. Second, it wasn't even a kiss, it was a thing whose whole purpose was, again, to project directly into my mind because you _pulled a sword on him_ for giving me a bracelet! If you had just waited, all this wouldn't have happened this way!”

Arthur looked furious. He shoved Merlin's shoulders with both hands, hard enough to push him back a step. “How could I have any idea he was trying to help you? And you expect me to let random—peasants, or—”

“He was a dragon!”

“Fine! Dragon peasants do whatever they please to anyone, much less a member of my own court?”

“It's none of your business unless someone asks it to be your business! What do you even care!”

They had both been yelling and Merlin had pushed Arthur up against a tree with one hand against his chest, fist clenched in Arthur's tunic. He had a weird sense of deja vu and knew that in another dream, back when he was truly dreaming, this would have turned out very differently. Instead, he felt the moment Arthur went completely still and knew he had gone too far.

“What do I even care,” Arthur repeated, voice low and flat. “Get off of me,” he said, and knocked Merlin's arm away.

“Arthur, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—Arthur, wait!”

Arthur ignored him as he moved quickly into the woods. Merlin went after him but the trees shifted at every turn, made him stumble, blocked him.

Merlin felt it was particularly unfair that it was _his_ dream-memory and yet Arthur could close him off. Probably because it was Arthur to begin with and Merlin, subconsciously or not, would let him do nearly anything he wanted.

9.

He didn't find Arthur. But, he did find the knot.

It was burnt into an enormous oak at the heart of the forest. As soon as he saw it, the image the dragon had left in his mind filled his vision so he could hardly see the true oak in front of him. His head felt like it was going to split and he fell to his knees, gasping and staring at the tree. Then it aligned, locked into place, and the pain was gone. He knew with ringing clarity that to fix the knot he had to heal the tree. He shuffled forward and nestled the wooden carving from his father against the roots. Then he placed his hands on the tree and began.

It was brutal work. The shape of the knot had been burned into the tree with old magic and it had been done purposely _wrong_. Two things happened each time Merlin managed to heal a strand: the carving his father gave him smoothed in the same place, a mirror of what happened to the tree; and, he understood a little more what the knot was.

It was a sigil, frighteningly powerful.

It existed inside of him.

It was placed there by an old goddess.

At first he hated it. He cursed as he worked. He spat blood and his voice was rasped to nearly nothing. He hit a point, half-way through, when he went into a sort of trance. Pain had left him. His magic was a constant flow.

He stopped hating the old goddess because he understood now that the sigil she placed on him was a lock, a dam, a restriction to hold his power in place until he was strong enough to remove it.

He learned that without it, he would have died as a newborn.

He learned that in its balanced form it was meant to slowly open the flow as he grew older, received guidance, training, but she knew this wouldn't be possible. That he would be on his own and she knew it would not be safe for him.

She corrupted the sigil and it cost her life.

He was not entirely sure what will happen when the tree is healed and this lock on his power was gone.

His trance only lasted until he was two-thirds of the way to healing the tree. Every nerve was on fire with the burn of his magic. His eyes must be all gold. His vision was tinted amber. He fixated on his father's carving, and he thought _I'm not going to make it. I can't do this._ He took a shuddering breath, vision dimming, and then Arthur was there, hands firmly on his shoulders, grounding him.

“You aren't going to stop now, are you? You're giving up?” His voice was close to Merlin's ear and Arthur sounded entirely calm which Merlin knew meant he was completely terrified.

Merlin grit his teeth and pressed his hands harder against the tree, against the burn of the corrupted sigil. His palms were scraped raw from the bark. He spat out another incantation, the words coming from the part of him that never needed a book of spells.

“Take a breath,” Arthur said, “And do it again.”

Merlin did. It was a little easier this time.

“Breathe, and again.”

It was slow, but his father's carving smoothed more and more as the burn healed and Merlin found himself gaining strength. It was only when Arthur faltered that he realized what was happening.

“Arthur, let go, you have to let go of me,” Merlin said. His voice was so raw.

“You think I'm not strong enough?” Arthur said, but all the bite was drained out of his voice.

“It could kill you, I can't—I can't control how much I'm taking!”

Arthur shook Merlin's shoulders weakly. “The sooner you finish this the sooner we wake up and I can shout at you about it.”

Merlin hated it, but knew Arthur was right. He couldn't stop now. If he left it half finished, it really would kill them both. What was done had to be undone to completion, to be something whole, something clean, something unscathed.

He did his best to feel where Arthur's strength intersected with his own. He did his best to stem the current. He healed the last part of the tree just as Arthur collapsed against his back and a whole flood of power sang through his veins. Everything lit up and he had no limits, he could do anything, he could raze Albion to the ground and make it flourish again, he could hand it all to Arthur as easily as waving his hand, he could kill every enemy and sanctify every ally. He was Emrys.

Arthur's arms wrapped around his waist, his head pressed against Merlin's shoulder blades.

“Stop. Merlin, stop.”

Then his whole humanity washed back over and into him. Yes, he was Emrys. But he was Merlin, too. He would have to learn to be both.

10.

When Merlin woke he knew it was real. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He was on Arthur's bed, the first thin gauzy layer of curtain drawn shut so the light was diffused. He looked at his hands and was surprised to see no damage. Of course. That had all been in his mind. Everything was a bit blurry. He shut his eyes and let himself drift as the memories of his dreams come back. He didn't feel too different now that the lock on his power was gone. That was probably a good thing.

He heard a groan beside him and turned his head to see Arthur blinking awake. Arthur rolled over to face him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Um. Hello,” Merlin said, for lack of anything better.

Arthur stared at him for a minute then rolled his eyes and groggily crawled over Merlin to brace himself above him. Merlin stayed entirely still. He was very positive he was awake but this was so much like one of the dreams.

“Uh, hello?” he tried again.

Arthur glared at him. He sat up, took each of Merlin's wrists, lifted them slowly, and gently pinned them above Merlin's head. He readjusted, leaning down a little with his knees on either side of Merlin's hips so he could keep glaring while holding Merlin's wrists.

“I wasn't jealous. I do not own you. But I am your friend and your king and I was worried when I saw him grab you like that,” Arthur said, as if picking up the thread of a conversation they had just dropped. As if this was the most important thing for Arthur to glare at him about, not Kilgarrah, or the magic, or the unlocking of even more magic, or—

“I'm sorry I said you didn't care,” Merlin said. And it was true, he was sorry, because he knew that Arthur cared. He just didn't know if it—if it was—

“Hm. I don't know if you really are. But you will be,” Arthur said, his glare softening into something more mischievous. Merlin graciously didn't point out the flush spreading across Arthur's cheekbones.

Merlin's voice was absolutely not pitched higher when he said “Oh? How's that?”

Arthur leaned further down so that his breath fanned warmly over Merlin's mouth.

“There were some dreams that I saw, when I left you in Ealdor's forest. I—”

Merlin used their proximity to lean up and cut Arthur off with a kiss. It landed mostly on Arthur's lower lip and chin. He let his head thunk back onto the pillow and waited, stupidly nervous because there was no way he read this situation wrong. Also, he didn't know if he could handle Arthur talking about _those_ _dreams_ while he was actually awake.

Arthur was bright red now but he held his ground. “Disrespectful, interrupting your king. The stocks,” he said, and kissed Merlin quickly, “and mucking out the stables,” another kiss, “kitchen duty,” another kiss, until Merlin was laughing against his mouth and kissing him back.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Vance Joy's "Fire and the Flood".
> 
> I've written Arthur and Merlin bickering (ofc, it's what they do), but I rarely write an argument. I had to check back on some episodes to really see how these two fight. It doesn't happen often, and it doesn't last long, but what gets me every time is how they both push each other so quickly to an emotional height--how neither of them backs down, but they are also willing to try to understand where the other is coming from, even when they're pissed and don't agree, or when circumstances seem set. I love fics where Arthur just gets overwhelmed and is like *angry consensual smooch* but it was equally thrilling to write merlin shoving him against a tree because he was Fed Up, and to write Arthur being very gentle and teasing at the end. 
> 
> Also: what the heck, y'all be dropping the NICEST comments for these prompt pieces, and I am serious when I say they get me through tough days and weeks. I appreciate everyone who reads, kudos, comments, and bookmarks. Whatever your engagement is, thank you. Merlin fandom is #solid af.


End file.
